“Yes,” Rooney said, “there is. Follow me.”
They walked around the scene and approached the area where the front door had been located. Rooney pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. “See this?”
Vail crouched, got close to the spot where Rooney was pointing. “Tool marks on the strike plate.”
“In other words, evidence of forced entry. The fire also extended beyond the perimeter of the house in an unnatural manner. Plus, there’s extensive damage, there are no V-shaped patterns, and the fire looks to be low burning.”
“V-shaped patterns. That’s when a naturally occurring fire burns up and out,” she said, bringing her hands together and separating them as she gestured toward the sky.
“Correct. Usually the v is burned into furniture and/or walls. We checked the lightbulbs, too, because they’re often a natural point of origin in fires. They’d be melted and flat on one side, like an arrow pointing you to where the heat source was greatest. Again, nothing. So without all that stuff, we’ve got enough to call it arson. But that’s not all.”
“Unusual burn patterns?”
“And high heat stress. Come inside.”
Rooney led the way into what Vail guessed had been the living room.
He knelt again. “Know what this is?”
“Sterno can.”
“And that’s part of our UNSUB’s signature, right? Sterno’s a bizarre, and inefficient, way of starting a fire. But it’s not the only thing that’s strange.” He rose and swung his body, and his light, 180 degrees.
“What am I looking at?”
“That, Karen, is ritual behavior for this arsonist.”
Vail stared at the detritus in front of her, some of which was surprisingly intact: more Sterno cans and lids, burned remnants of a wood match, wax, and a small fragment of what looked like a rag. “Can you be more specific?”
“Not yet. But generally speaking, this is his way of setting the fire. This is the point of origin. There’s some kind of elaborate setup he constructs that gets the fire going using these items you see at your feet.”
“Why go through all that?”
“Think, Karen. Why do any of our offenders do the shit they do? This isn’t any different.”
Vail nodded slowly. “None of this is necessary to start a really hot fire that’ll kill the inhabitants, destroy evidence, and take down the structure. It can be done a lot more efficiently. But for some reason, doing it this way has meaning to this guy. He likes it, fantasizes about it.”
“Right. I’m not sure how all these pieces fit together, but I’m gonna work on it, go through the prior crime scene videos and photos to see if I can reconstruct what he does. And why.”
A chilled wind blew across the landscape and a shiver racked Vail’s body. She stood up and began flexing her fingers. “Will you keep me posted on what you find? I’d love to keep expanding my knowledge base, know what to look for in a scene like this. I’ve got the basics of arson but—well, there’s a lot to know.”
Rooney rose from his crouch. “Soon as I get some more forensics back, you’ll be the first to know.”
31
The morning came with one redeeming characteristic: the temperature had risen to thirty-five degrees. Well, two: it was not snowing.
Marcks had a third reason to celebrate: he had spent the night in a secluded area in Greenbelt Park inside a very comfortable Mercedes Sseries sedan outfitted with plush napa leather seats and the heater running most of the evening. Before retiring, he had sought out the hot showers described in the brochure and map he had taken from the self-serve receptacle upon entering the grounds.
He spent only about ten minutes under the water but it was like being home, before his incarceration. He could close his eyes and not worry about being shanked in the side. Out in nature, no dim-witted idiots in his space … for the first time in years, he was at total peace.
Afterwards, he retired to the car and enjoyed the most restful sleep he had experienced for as long as he could remember. He awoke at first light feeling refreshed and ready to take on whatever obstacles he would face today.
And given what he had planned, there would certainly be some significant challenges.
However, he derided himself for not learning his lesson at the barn. He should not have slept so soundly—he should have been on alert for threats that approached the car—but the hot water, fatigue, and constant stress won out over self-preservation … at least for seven hours. He needed to regain his edge—or he was going to get caught.
Marcks checked around outside. Trees stretched in all directions, some fallen and others canted at forty-five–degree angles to their brethren. Snow blanketed the landscape as far as he could see. As he sat there, he ran his hands over the supple leather and thought he could get used to this. He could not recall a time when he felt so relaxed.